


make a bad one good, make a wrong one right

by orange_yarn



Series: all the stories that we (could have) told [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, High School AU, Soccer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_yarn/pseuds/orange_yarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke takes what you like the call a reluctant selfie. If you hold up your phone and throw your arm around her shoulder she'll smile, but she always grumbles about it afterwards, even though she looks great in every picture. You pick the very best one and post it to her instagram account, the one you opened for her and never actually told her about. She always gets at least three times as many likes as you do. You're not jealous.</p><p>(The 100 High School AU, Part 10.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	make a bad one good, make a wrong one right

**Author's Note:**

> Here's part 10, another Jasper POV. I think it's pretty funny? I know I really enjoyed writing it. Also, it has a scene that I've been looking forward to since my sister and I first started plotting this crazy fic out. It's longer than the last one, just over 3K.
> 
> Title is from "The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News, because reasons.

Clarke's not the kind of person you can keep secrets from, she never has been. When you were ten and she was twelve and you still mostly hated each other you couldn't get away with _anything_. Clarke was too perceptive, she knew what you were thinking sometimes even before you did. When you were kids it was infuriating, and you wasted a lot of time and energy trying to get one over on her, only to have it backfire. Plus she had this _look,_ like she wasn't buying what you were selling, and you always got to feeling guilty so you fessed up every. single. time.

So, yeah, there's not much you can get by her. By now, you've pretty much stopped trying. You do have a couple or secrets left, and there is one thing, one scheme in particular that you've managed to sneak by her. You don't know how you've managed to keep it under wraps for the past few weeks, but you do know that if she finds out what you've been planning she will be all kinds of furious.

After you woke up in the hospital you were still in pretty bad shape. They had you on the good drugs, so you didn't really notice how awful you felt, everything was off-kilter and hazy, but you did notice that they weren't letting any visitors in, except for family. You figure Monty would have been there every day, otherwise, right up until the doctors kicked him out.

Eventually you got out of the hospital and started laying around at home instead. You were a little more aware of how terrible you felt, but Monty started coming around then, whenever he could, and Clarke hung out with you the rest of the time, sitting right up next to you on your bed and busting through your Netflix instant queue, so you had distractions. You were still getting back into the swing of things, so it took a couple of days for you to realize who was missing.

"What's up with you and Wells?" you'd asked Clarke, halfway through an episode of Downton Abbey. She was rewinding, trying to find the last part you remembered before you'd fallen asleep, again, and you were pawing at the mostly empty bowl of trail mix between you. "Haven't seen him around lately."

It's not like you expected Wells to come and hang out with you -- the two of you weren't best buddies or anything -- but he and Clarke seemed like they were getting pretty serious, so you figured he'd be there for her. He was around almost every day before you ended up in the hospital -- in fact you hardly saw Clarke the first few weeks of summer. Maybe that's it, you'd thought, maybe she'd asked Wells to tone it down so she could spend more time with you.

You were sort of slumped over on Clarke, with your head up against her shoulder, so you could feel the way she got all tense. "We broke up."

Her tone was clipped, and you'd sat straight up so you could see her face, but she wasn't looking at you. She kept her eyes glued to the screen, and her face twisted up in a frown.

"What?" you'd asked, not quite comprehending what you were hearing. Sure, Wells could be a little stuffy, but he and Clarke were good for each other. They were solid _,_ it was the classic friends-to-lovers shindig, they'd known each other for forever and they were _meant to be_. They would get married after college and you'd have beautiful nieces and nephews to play video games and watch _Adventure Time_ with. It would have been perfect. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter," she'd said, still not looking at you, but what you heard was _I don't want to talk about this._ Too bad, you'd thought, because you weren't about to let this one go so easily. Wells was over for dinner the night before you got hurt at the party, and everything was fine then. He and Clarke were totally holding hands under the table -- they thought nobody noticed, but you did. You had no idea what could have happened since then to have broken them up. A guy spends two measly weeks in a coma and he misses out on all the drama, apparently.

And just like that, it clicked.

"You broke up with him because of what happened to me?" you'd asked, and Clarke hadn't answered, she'd just clicked pause and sat there very quietly. "Clarke, he didn't even do anything." You couldn't remember anything that happened that night, like, at all, but Monty had filled you in, and Wells definitely skipped out on the whole off-the-balcony-into-the-pool nonsense.

"Exactly," Clarke had said, her voice low and sort of wavering, and you didn't know what to do if she started crying. She kept it together though, like she usually did, and pressed on. "I had    bad feeling about that party, but he promised he would keep an eye on you. And look what happened." She'd taken a deep, steady breath. "So, yes, it's over, and no, I'm not talking about it any more. Alright?"

"Yeah," you'd said, and she'd pressed play and you didn't say anything else, but it kept bothering you. It still bothers you now.

It's stupid, but there's this part of you that feels guilty, like somehow you broke Clarke and Wells up. You understand, realistically, that actually none of this is your fault, that something bad happened to you, and then went on to affect a lot of other people, too, and nobody can blame you for that, not even yourself. It's just, you think that Clarke had something good with Wells, something that could have been great, maybe, and you feel like you kind of ruined it.

So, you've got this plan, to get the two of them back together. Mostly it's not going so great, but that's probably because you don't have any real ideas, or like, actionable steps. You're still in the brainstorming stage. You do have a codename, which you'd argue is at least half the battle right there.

All you've really done so far is one time you swiped Clarke's phone and listened to the voicemails flooding her inbox. They got increasingly more desperate and pathetic, and by the time you were done you felt even worse for Wells. Also you try to say nice things about him when you can, but Clarke always shuts you down fast.

Now, though, there's a new development -- Wells signing the soccer team up with Clarke's Eco club so it wouldn't get cut. It's causing all kinds of drama for Clarke, but you're looking at it like an opportunity. You know Clarke goes sort overboard on events, and Wells will be tripping over himself to try and help her. All you have to do is nudge them into a romantic-type situation and they'll remember that they were made for each other.

You're pretty sure that's how it works in the movies, anyway.

 

-+-

 

After the game on Friday night, and hanging out at Waffle House, and Octavia Blake talking to you on purpose, well, you're just too wired to sleep. You try your best, you really do, but after forty-five minutes of staring at the ceiling and a text from Monty that said _i'm turning off my phone,_ you finally give up.

You'd just about filled up your phone taking pictures that night, so you flip through them all and instagram the good ones. Mostly they're of gameplay, but there are plenty of you and Clarke, up in the stands. You're making a bunch of ridiculous faces, and Clarke looks like she's wondering why she puts up with you, which actually sums up your relationship perfectly.

Clarke takes what you like the call a reluctant selfie. If you hold up your phone and throw your arm around her shoulder she'll smile, but she always grumbles about it afterwards, even though she looks great in every picture. You pick the very best one and post it to her instagram account, the one you opened for her and never actually told her about. She always gets at least three times as many likes as you do. You're not jealous.

Once you're done with instagram you get caught up on Facebook, and by then you're even more awake, so you turn on your Xbox and turn down your volume and play until at least 4 A.M. You must pass out sometime after that, because you wake up in full sunlight, on top of your covers, with your headset around your neck and the controller digging into your side. The house is silent, except for the rattling sound of somebody's tennis shoes in the dryer, so probably no one else is home. Your phone is plugged in, charging on your nightstand, and it tells you it's just after noon.

It's your personal philosophy that it's never too late for breakfast, so you're picking all the marshmallows out of a bowl of Lucky Charms when the front door opens, and closes again. Your parents are at work by now, and they won't be home until late, so unless you're getting burglarized, Clarke must be back from wherever she was. You listen to the familiar sounds of your stepsister kicking off her shoes by the rug, and hanging her purse on the peg by the door. She comes down the front hall, around the half-wall dividing you from the living room, and into the kitchen.

"You're awake," she observes, dropping a stack of bright green papers on the kitchen table. Knowing her, she's probably been up since six in the morning, and she's already done all her homework and run a bunch of errands and just generally been a more productive person than you will ever want to be.

"What are those?" you ask around a mouthful of hearts, stars, and horseshoes, nodding at the papers. She must have been to Kinko's, but you can't figure out what she would need that many copies of anything, unless she's planning on wallpapering her room.

"Flyers for the River Cleanup," Clarke tells you, rummaging around in the pantry, and coming away with a jar of peanut butter. "I hope you're excited."

"Oh, right," you say slowly, wincing at the thought of it. It's one of the annual events that Clarke hosts through the Eco Club -- a canoe trip down the local river, picking up trash and helping the environment and other stuff. You know it means a lot to Clarke -- she's already on edge about her club, after that train wreck of a callout meeting and the risk of it getting cut, so you know she really wants this to go well. And you love her, you really do, she is the best older sister that you never actually asked for. You don't know what you'd do without her, but spending four hours trapped in a tiny canoe with her is _not_ your idea of a perfect Saturday morning. "Yeah, sorry, but I'm supposed to go to my Mom's house this weekend--"

"--That's fine," Clarke says, and you do not like the way she is smiling right now, why is she smiling like that, "--because I had to move it to _next_ weekend." She slaps a copy of the flyer on the placemat next to you, and you note the date, two weeks from today. Awesome.

"What?" you ask, probably not coming off as excited. "That is really great news," you add, even less convincingly, based on the way Clarke is unscrewing the lid on the jelly jar and scowling at you. "Also can you please explain why you did that?"

"The Rocketeers have their big game against the Mountain Men this Saturday," Clarke reminds you, and you wonder when she got to knowing the soccer team's schedule better than you do. She's looking down at her sandwich, spreading the peanut butter and jelly a little more angrily than normal. "And since they're now official sponsors of the Eco Club, or _whatever_ , Wells is going to make sure that some of the guys actually show up."

"Wait, what?" you ask, dropping your spoon. "You talked to Wells?"

"I texted him," she says, like she's not happy about it. "He says he'll deal with the team, and I don't have to, which sounds perfect."

"So, just to clarify," you say, and Clarke glances up at you, "Wells _is_ going to be there. Like, for sure?"

Clarke rubs at her forehead and closes her eyes. "Please don't remind me," she tells you, dropping into a chair and sort of sighing at her pb&j.

You don't say a word, but the wheels are already turning in your head.

 

-+-

 

"So I'm thinking," you tell Monty, side-by-side on the couch. It's Sunday afternoon, your parents are working, Clarke just left for the library, to work on her lit project with Finn, and you are playing video games on the big screen. "You know that part in _The Little Mermaid_ , when they're in the boat and all the animals are trying to get Ariel and Prince Eric to make out? It's gotta be something like that."

"What are you talking about?" Monty asks, not even looking away from the television because he's too busy totally trouncing you at this game, like he does every game, "Also, how do you know the name of the prince in _The Little Mermaid_?"

"Dude, I've seen the movie." Plus you and Clarke have seen every episode of _Once Upon A Time,_ it's like your Sunday night ritual, but she would actually kill you if you ever told anyone about that, so you don't mention it. "And I'm taking about the Eco Club canoe trip. I've gotta make it romantic somehow, so Clarke and Wells will get back together and restore my faith in love and stuff. Weren't you listening?" You've only been brainstorming increasingly romantic scenarios for the last ten minutes.

"Why would Wells be at the canoe trip?" Monty asks, proving that no, actually, he has not been listening to you, or apparently Wells, who is supposed to be getting the guys on board with this.

"Uhm, don't you all have to be there?" you ask him, watching as your character dies yet another agonizing death. "Since Wells signed the soccer team up for the Eco club?"

"I repeat, what are you talking about?" Monty says, this time glancing over at you in honest bewilderment, but before you can wonder how much Wells has bothered to tell his teammates, Monty's phone starts ringing. "It's probably my mom," he guesses, and you pause the game as he digs his phone out of his pocket. "Or not," he adds, then slides his finger across the screen to answer it, pressing it to his ear. "Hey, Finn. What's up?"

"Finn?" you mouth, full on confused because isn't Finn supposed to be meeting Clarke at the library right about now?

Monty doesn't answer you, exactly. He just frowns and says, "Sure," and then he passes the phone to you. "Finn wants to talk to you," he explains, like you hadn't just figured that out. You just aren't sure why. All you can think is maybe something happened, something bad, because why else would Finn need to talk to you when he supposed to be with Clarke?

Worry twists in your gut, and oh, wow, is this how Clarke feels about you all the time because this _sucks_. You lift the phone to your ear, almost on autopilot, and you say, "Hello?"

"Jasper?" Finn's voice comes through the receiver. You can hear someone talking in the background. It's not Clarke. "Hey, does your sister drink coffee?"

You blink. "What?" you ask, because those last six words made absolutely no sense.

"I'm at Starbucks," Finn tells you, like that's some kind of explanation. "I was going to," he says, and then he clears his throat and asks again, "Does Clarke drink coffee?"

"She, uh." You flounder for your words, while Monty reaches over to your controller, unpauses the game, and keeps playing. "She likes the Caramel Frappuccino," you tell him, too confused to do anything but answer.

"Got it," Finn says, and you hear him repeat the order, to the barista, you guess. "Thanks."

"No problem," you say, but there's a click as the call disconnects. You pull the phone away from your ear and stare at it. "Well, I guess that's it then," you announce, feeling dejected. "Operation: The Power of Love is officially cancelled." You wonder if this means you should change your ringtone, but decide against it. Huey Lewis and the News is _classic_.

"I am so confused right now," Monty tells you, still not looking away from the game, and also not sounding like it matters all that much.

"Clarke and Wells are never getting back together, not if Finn's putting the moves on her. Have you seen that guy?" you ask miserably. "Have you seen his _hair_? We might as well jump ship now."

Because the thing is, maybe you can't keep secrets from Clarke, but she can't keep secrets from you, either. A good example is her schedule for this year. You know she's supposed to be graduating early, except she's missing half her senior classes -- she's taking Econ but not Government -- so you know she changed her schedule, and you know she did it to keep an eye on you. The only thing you don't know is if you'll pretend to be surprised when she finally does tell you about it.

You notice other things, too, things Clarke doesn't think you'll pick up on, and maybe even things she hasn't realized herself. Like the way she was looking at Finn last night at the Waffle House, and also how she just about skipped out the door on her way to the library. Clarke never looked as excited to do anything with Wells, and if Finn is going to turn on the charm, then Wells doesn't stand a chance. One could argue that maybe Finn is just a friendly sort of guy, what with the surprise coffee and straw wrapper origami, but you're about a thousand percent sure that is not what is happening here.

Monty frowns and asks, "Doesn't it bother you that Finn is 'putting the moves' on your sister?" He says it like he doesn't think that's actually a thing.

You shrug. "Not unless it bothers her, " you say, and you think about the teeny tiny paper crane you spotted on Clarke's nightstand, and you get the feeling that it really, really doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: My sister (theseaisagreatplace on tumblr) and I went to Starbucks yesterday, for science, so I could finish this chapter. Also I wrote most of it sitting on our front porch, by our pond, and got a ton of mosquito bites. It was worth it.
> 
> I'm trying to write as much as possible this summer, so hopefully updates will continue to come quickly, but I do have a couple of other fics in the works, so, we'll see what gets posted, and when. Next up for this AU is another Clarke chapter, for sure.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! :D


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